Bruce Wagner - I Met Someone

“Morgellons,” said Snoop, with amused disdain. “I have a whole opinion about that — some other time! The reason that I asked — if you knew her — is because there are similarities.”

“Similarities?”

“You know she gave a daughter up when she was twenty.”

“I did know that.”

“You lost Aurora at about three months?”

“Yes.”

(It was interesting to hear a stranger say the name and the detail.)

“Well, that’s about the age Kilauren was when Joni put her up for adoption.”

“Really! That, I didn’t know.”

“And it’s curious: I think she was exactly your age when Joni decided to see if she could find her little girl.”

“Wow,” said Allegra. “How weird!”

“The minute the search went public , gals started coming out of the woodwork to say, ‘You’re my mother!’ ‘Hi, Mom!’ We had to put everyone through a fairly rigorous screening process.”

“I can imagine.”

The conversation rambled — shared friends and timeworn anecdotes from his end — before he circled back to Aurora, in regard to his fee. It had been a long while since anyone spoke directly to her about payment of services. Again, very old-school, and she loved it.

Before Snoop left, Dusty wanted to know how he became a cold-case maven. As it happened, he was a pioneer in the field, long before it was a cultural and living-room staple. Initially, the work had called to him because “like Elvis, I had a twin who died at birth. Not to get too psychological about it, but I think part of me is always looking —for that other part, that other me . The thing that will make me whole.”

Standing at the door on the way out, he doffed his hat and said something so crazy that after he left she had to ask Allegra if she’d heard him right.

“Did he say dig up the yard ?”

“I think so,” Allegra said grimly.

“What exactly did you hear him say ?”

“He said — I thought he said not to worry — that he’d find her—‘we’ll find her… even if we have to dig up that yard .’”

—

They used to smoke weed, hop in Joni’s red Mercedes 280SL, and drive through traffic just to blow people’s minds. She could really make Dusty laugh. It embarrassed and surprised her that she didn’t know more about the singer’s whole adoption deal. It was a famous story that she hadn’t followed too closely, which in itself was deeply telling. Because after all, Joni was looking —and Dusty wasn’t. Probably struck too close to home. Why would she have been interested in the journey of an artist and a peer who had the guts to do what she herself wasn’t yet capable of?

They lay in bed, watching a YouTube interview from a while ago. (Allegra’d been Google bingeing; Patti Smith had given up her baby girl around the same time Joni did. WTF!) Joni wanted to clear the air because she was tired of people saying she’d put her kid up for adoption because of her career. Looking elegant and patrician — matrician? mortician? — probably in her early sixties at the taping, she defended herself by explaining how she was young and poor, and the father of her child had left three months after the girl was born. It was freezing cold and she had no prospects; she knew she couldn’t make a home for her daughter, let alone a life. The presentation was so plausible and forthright, she was so articulate and made such sense , but, still, Dusty was uncomfortable. Why couldn’t Joni have just said she wasn’t ready to be a mom ? Wouldn’t that have been cleaner? Where was the sin? What was wrong with saying you weren’t ready ? Because if you were , you could overcome anything … couldn’t you? Joni told the interviewer that it was a different time, a different, harsher time, but what did that even mean? A time when mothers gave up their daughters en masse ? She hated and loved Joni, forgave and condemned… because wasn’t not searching for Aurora the very same as having voluntarily given her up ? If only she’d taken the singer’s sensible, guilt-free path! She’d have been spared so much.

Joni was saying how she watched from a balcony as her daughter arrived for the first time. “It was like Romeo and Juliet.” In another clip, Kilauren said it felt like she was coming home after being away just a short while. Supportive, famous friends of Joni chimed in, taking note of how the genius’s demeanor, her very face , had changed upon reuniting with her lost child, that she’d finally come full circle in her life and her work, the whole both-sides-now thing — paradise regained. If only I can have that chance, thought Dusty. Please, God, give me that chance! It didn’t matter a whit that Kilauren’s boyfriend sold pictures of the reunion to the tabloids or that Joni and the foundling ended up “divorcing,” with “incompatibility” being cited… didn’t matter that Joni allegedly slapped her daughter in the face during a disagreement at her home in Bel Air, and police had been called—

None of it mattered!

Because, oh! What she would give to bring her own daughter back! And a granddaughter … oh! It astonished her that the very idea of a grandchild hadn’t occurred until now—

What she would give!

What she would give, for a daughter to slap, or be struck by, hard across the face! To break skin and teeth, and draw welts! What she would give for a daughter whose passions commanded the police to be summoned, lights flashing, sirens blaring — SWAT teams, stun grenades, bomb-sniffing dogs!

What she would give, what she would give, what she would give!

—

On Fridays, Dusty had a standing poolside lunch date with her assistant. Their little ritual — savories, gossip, and talk of old/new business:

Jimmy Fallon wanted her for a lip-sync battle. One of the young stars of Bloodthrone was hosting SNL and Lorne called to ask if she’d make a surprise walk-on during his monologue. Did she want to go to an investment conference in New York in November? “Hunh?” she said. The assistant informed that it was at the Met, happened every year, and Sir Paul (“not RuPaul ”) was the last musical guest. Dylan was supposed to be doing it — that was the rumor anyway. “If you want, I can reach out to Bono. He usually goes. You could fly on the Google plane.” “I need Bono to fly on the Google plane?” she said impishly. “That’s not what I meant!” he said, laughing. “Then what did you mean? And I’m kidding .” “Google would be totally thrilled to have you— everyone would be thrilled.” “Now you’re digging yourself deeper, bubba.” She liked to goof on him. “Just let me know if you’re interested,” he said. “I mean, whenever. But sometime in the next two weeks!” Moving on, he said there’d been “whispers” she was up for a Kennedy Center Honor. “Whispers!” she said. “Whispers! I love it!” She put on a pixie face and mused, “I wonder who votes on that .”

He turned his attention to the nonsectarian. “I got an email from a very sweet elderly person who said she knows you. Ida Pinkert. Ring a bell?”

“Ida Pinkert, Ida Pinkert…”

“She used to be a neighbor? In Tustin?”

“Ida Pinkert! Oh my God! She must be a hundred and seven!”

“Let me pull it up,” he said, scrolling his phablet.

“She was a ‘friend’ of Reina’s — the neighborhood spinster . Lived catty-corner from us.”

He stared at his screen, muttering, “Why can’t I find it?”